


Boys who Kiss Boys

by mugsandpugs



Category: Animorphs - Katherine A. Applegate
Genre: Coming Out, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Pet Names, dinner together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:09:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27237040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mugsandpugs/pseuds/mugsandpugs
Summary: Marco introduces Ax to Latin-American cooking. Ax has some thoughts about the culture of human touch.
Relationships: Aximili-Esgarrouth-Isthill/Marco (Animorphs)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 34





	Boys who Kiss Boys

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so before you realize this was written in first person and click away in HORRIFIED DISGUST, please just... Have a little faith. I wouldn't use that format unless it was necessary.

When Marco requested a 'guy's night' at his home, where we might 'pig out' on all manner of fried and greasy wonders, I knew his father must be leaving the city again. Marco's father often does so, travelling for the sake of his work with primitive human computers.

I believe Marco feels lonesome when this happens. Humans, having developed from the same branch as great apes in their nests, prefer to be in groups. No wonder they enjoy canines so much; they have much a similar physiology, for all their physical differences.

Marco doesn't own a dog the way Prince Jake does. Or a cat, or any of the other animals deemed acceptable pets. It is only he and his father in a home stacked on top of other homes, so close and yet so separated from other human beings. _This_ is why he requests my company.

The night of our 'guy's night,' I said my goodbyes to Tobias, who was on his way to Rachel's home. I took on the morph of a seagull and left my safe forest behind, soaring. A gull may not fly or see as well as a hawk, but the Animorphs tell me it's less likely to draw attention tapping at an apartment window.

It pleased my own mind when Marco opened said window and reached to scoop me into his hands, but the seagull's mind was less pleased. It saw Marco as a threat, and wanted to get away. It was a relief when Marco set my gull-body on the linoleum floor of his kitchen.

 _Linoleum. Linoleum._ I couldn't wait until I had a human mouth to vocalize such an entertaining word with!

The seagull was just as entranced as I by what was happening in Marco's kitchen. Bowls of colorful food waited on the table, and he pushed more of it in a pan on the stove, sizzling with heat. I smelled grease and salt and other wonderful things that made my heart beat fast. Unable to wait another moment, I resumed my original form.

Marco gave my transforming body a nudge. "Scootch your booty. Hot plate comin' through."

A 'booty,' as I've come to understand, are the two fleshy pads atop wobbly human legs that people sit on. 'Scootch' was a word I haven't heard before, but using the context clues, I surmised that Marco meant 'move your body elsewhere because I am transferring hot food from the stove to the table.' I'm very good with context clues.

I scootched my booty down the hall, to Marco's bedroom. It's my favorite room in the apartment, because there are many interesting things to look at, from books to a replica globe of the planet to a very silly human computer, which would not be amiss in an ancient artifacts museum back at home.

There were large glossy pictures on the walls, too, from images within films to sports stars to scantily-clad human women sitting on cars in what must be uncomfortable positions. I don't trust those pictures, because when I morph into my human body, my booty sticks to smooth surfaces like that and it all becomes very uncomfortable. Those women should not be smiling so happily.  
  
I opened the chest of drawers where Marco kept his clothing and drew out the pants and shirt he wears while sleeping. I don't care for most clothing, but humans become offended and embarrassed when they see human genitals, and I didn't want to offend Marco. Besides; sleep clothes are warm and soft. I like how everything smells like Marco when I wear his outfits, even if they are a little too small for my body.

I dressed, then paused, frowning at my reflection in Marco's mirror. With the shirt still bunched under my armpits, I returned to the kitchen. "Marco, my body is male, correct?"

"Well, there's a lot of talk about gender, lately, and lines aren't as solid as we used to thi— _why are your nips out?!"_

"Nips aren't genitals; you can't be offended. And that was my question; why do I _have_ nips, if I'm not designed to birth and feed babies?"

Marco's laughter is always a treat to hear. It's warm, rough, and seems to burst from his throat, as though he's surprised to feel it coming. _"Dude..._ You know we're mammals."

"Yes, but— Oh, is it an evolutionary holdover? Do male and female infants begin identically, before becoming more specialized in the womb?"

"Um. I'm gonna say yes, even though I'm not sure."

"Fascinating." I tugged one of the nips. It caused a strange, zinging sensation low in my stomach, and when I looked up, I saw that Marco had buried his blushing face in both hands. I quickly fixed my shirt after that.

The meal Marco served was called 'empanadas,' which were pockets of spicy meat and vegetables. His mother, he said, often made them, and he wanted to introduce me to Chilean food. Humans are very proud of their food, as they should be. Food is the height of human achievement. The empanadas were very delicious, as was the ajiaco, the chapalele, and the mote con huesillos.

"Normally that would be dessert," Marco said, pulling the little stemmed wine glass out of my mouth when I tried to bite down, licking the taste of peach glaze from down deep. "But I thought I'd treat you to one more thing. Don't tell my mom... She'd have a cow. _'Mexican street food is not Chilean!'"_

I couldn't very well tell Marco's mother _anything..._ She'd been taken over by Visser One. Though Marco held to his hopes with a stronger grip than I'd ever seen, I knew he had not forgotten this pivotal fact. But it was possible Marco was speaking facetiously, using humor as a shield against the ever-present dread. I said nothing, because my grasp on the subtleties of human humor is tentative at best.

Marco stood, and I used the distraction to quickly spoon sour cream into my mouth, directly from the tub. I couldn't eat the tub, unfortunately, as it would take dull human teeth far too long to break it down.

I listened to him place things in the air fryer, but it wasn't until everything heated up that I recognized the unmistakable, heavenly scent of cinnamon in the air. I lept to my feet, then tripped... Whoever decided that two feet were better than four was a fool; the balance is terrible. Marco had to catch me, and this body is bigger than his. We both hit the counter with a jolt.

I hardly cared. I simply gazed into his deep brown eyes, ecstatic. _"Cinnamon?"_ I demanded, reaching for the air fryer. "Are you making delicious cinnamon buns for me?!"

"Not quite, Ax-man." Marco swatted my hand away. "Sit down..."

With great reluctance and impatience, I obeyed. I'm aware it only took three minutes for the air fryer to do its work, transforming the food from frozen to delicious, but in my heart, it was a space-eternity.

At last, at _very very_ long last, Marco slid a plate before me with three thin logs on top, from which the delicious scent emanated. I frowned, my hopes dashed. These were not the beautiful round buns, dripping with icing, but rather plain...

"Just try it," Marco huffed.

Not wanting to hurt his feelings, I brought one of the logs to my mouth and bit down—

And glory be; cinnamon! Fried dough and cinnamon-sugar blasting my tongue like a blessing from the warriors above! I made a deep noise of longing and began forcing the log down my throat, only choking a little. It was very hot. My lips and fingers felt singed. I bit my fingers in my eagerness to consume.

"Ax," Marco protested. "Ax-man. Ax, stop; I'm not that good at the Heimlich. Quit deep-throating the churro!"

But I could not quit deep-throating the churros. I devoured them all and longed for more. Marco sighed and rubbed the sides of his head that indicated he had a headache brewing. "Well, I'm glad you liked them, anyway."

"Dinner was perfect, Marco. I wish I had anything to give you that was half so wonderful."  
  
He sighed again, but at least he was smiling. When I first met my human friends, their smiles made me nervous... Exposing their teeth felt like a threat. But as I grew accustomed to them, I grew to associate the gesture with companionship and pleasure. Marco's smile is particularly enjoyable, as it causes divots to form in his cheek-muscles; 'dimples,' they're called. I pressed my finger inside one of those divots, and he laughed.  
  
"You could help me wash the dishes," he said. I kept my hand on his face, enjoying the feel of his jaw moving, and the slight vibration of his voice. "There's a crap-ton of them."

"I will help," I agreed. "Wash and dry and sanitize."

We did just that, filling both sides of his kitchen sink with water and chemical solutions. I scrubbed food remnants off the plates and utensils and cookery, and Marco dipped them in bleach-water before arranging them in the dishwashing machine. Marco performs many of the domestic tasks in his home, and is quick and skilled with them.

We cleaned the entire kitchen before I noticed soap bubbles on Marco's cheek. Dish soap doesn't taste particularly nice, but on an impulse, I pressed my mouth to them, swiping them away with my tongue.

Marco jolted and stared at me, his eyes wide in a way I recognized as his fight-or-flight expression worn before battle.

It's fascinating how the human body has such physical responses to emotions; it felt like my heart sank to my stomach, and my face heated. I wished to hang my head; to avoid his eyes.

"Was that wrong?" I asked, voice quiet. "Should I not have done that?"

Marco's battle expression softened, but he did not smile or joke. "Not... _wrong,_ but Ax-man... You can't just kiss people."

"Prince Jake kissed Cassie..."

"Yeah, but that's... They're a couple. They're. Romantically entangled. What have you."

"The mother on the Teleflu commercial kissed her child... _They_ weren't romantically entangled."

"No, but..." Marco scrubbed a sudsy hand through his hair, thinking. "You're only supposed to kiss people you love."

"Oh. Well... Then, I did nothing wrong, did I? I very much love you." A horrible thought occurred to me, as his face circulated through a series of emotions I couldn't quite place. "But perhaps it must be a two-way love? If you don't love me, then I suppose it would be very wrong indeed."

"Kissing..." Marco tried to explain slowly. "In America, kissing isn't really for friends. It's for very close family — usually a parent to a kid — or romantic partners, and that's it."

"Just in America?"

"Yeah... Other cultures have different takes on closeness. Cheek kisses, hand holding, sharing a bed, living together, taking baths together... Americans are kinda prudes. None of us ever hold each other, and then we wonder why we're sad all the time."

"It's very strange... You humans are a social species. You are pack animals. You need touches, closeness, grooming... Yet you put such boundaries on it." Had it always been this way? I had seen vintage photographs, pictures from a hundred or more years ago, when people, even Americans, seemed happy to hold onto each other; to distribute affection like candy. What had changed?  
  
I looked at my friend, whom I loved. "Marco, did that kiss offend you?"

He blinked. Eyelashes serve a practical purpose, keeping dust out of eyes. But somehow, _his_ always drew my attention. They were so long; so dark...

"It didn't offend me, Ax-man."

"Then why _shouldn't_ I kiss you? Why shouldn't you kiss me?!"

"Because people will think we're gay!" He spoke loudly, gesturing with his hands, frustrated that I wasn't seeing the big picture. "Boys who kiss boys get hurt, Ax-man; that's why!"

Oh... Oh.

I understood the concept of homophobia, of course. It comes up often in my studies of human culture and history. It isn't as though my own culture is free from it, either. Warriors who took other warriors for lovers were common, and many females preferred the company of other females. That was acceptable.

What _wasn't_ acceptable was the rare occasion when a female refused the courtship of a warrior in favor of her own sex, or vice versa. They had an obligation to reproduce, and if they did not, that was when the anger and pride appeared. They were shirking their duties, putting their wants as individuals above their duty as Andalites.

But humans took homophobia to a new level. Humans were killed for homophobia; outright, or in a hundred little deaths. Rejection from their families. The loss of employment. The loss of their home. Social isolation. Violence both physical and mental. "Boys who kiss boys" could, indeed, get hurt, and that explained the fear I saw in Marco's eyes.

"Marco..." I began, keeping my voice gentle and my posture non-threatening. "Are you homosexual?"

He looked away, watching the bubbles in the sink drain and pop. He was equally quiet as he responded, "I like boys. I like girls, too. I think I'm bisexual." His voice cracked on the last word, as though he'd never said it aloud before. "Please don't tell anyone. My dad... The Animorphs... What if they didn't like me anymore? What if they thought I was... Gross? Weird?"

I would keep his secret, of course, but I hoped he was wrong. I hoped our friends, and Marco's family, could rise above modern homophobia, to see that Marco was as he'd always been. To love him for who he is. Marco is most certainly a human worth loving.

"You are not gross," I told him firmly, "no matter who you kiss. You are only gross when you go too long without showering, and that is easily fixed."

He smiled, though there was no teeth this time; no dimples, either. "Thanks, Ax-man."  
  
In my time as an Animorph, I have gained a deeper understanding of gender and love than ever I imagined in my short life. I have been a mother skunk nurturing her kits. I have been a stallion in the consuming heat of rut. I have been a female mosquito, gathering nutrients my male counterparts could not. I have been Prince Jake, held safely in his father's embrace. I have been a she-wolf, running with the unity of Pack. I have been a Leeran soldier, without any gender at all, existing in full knowledge, full love, of my fellow Leerans.

There is nothing wrong with the way my dear and sweet friend Marco loves. This, I know with a certainty I would swear to any Andelite prince. It is as natural as any other in the animal kingdom.

"I will respect your wishes," I told Marco. "I want you to be safe and comfortable. May I kiss you now, in private, because I love you?"

Marco's skin is darker than Rachel and Prince Jake's, so it's a little harder to see it when he blushes. But I saw it then, and I enjoyed it thoroughly. I stepped forward to feel it, brushing my knuckles against his overwarm cheeks, and he closed his eyes and tilted his soft face into my palm. "Sure, Ax-man. Yeah... 'Cuz I love you, too."

Again, his voice cracked, but it didn't bother me any. I touched my human lips to his forehead, first, the way the mother in the Teleflu commercial kissed her daughter. And then I kissed Marco's cheek, because I loved his dimples so. Finally I kissed his lips, to see if it would make him smile.

It did; most brightly. He put his arms around me, and I did the same. He squeezed me, and I squeezed back. This wasn't the way Andelites expressed love. Or most animals, truthfully. But it was _Marco's_ way, and so I was overjoyed to share in it.

I kissed him again and gave a little sigh. "You taste like cinnamon. You are my cinnamon bun."

This time, he blushed so hard I felt it without ever touching him. He laughed, flustered and embarrassed, but smiling so wide... "You gotta promise never, ever to call me that in front of anyone."

I wouldn't, of course. I'm excellent at keeping secrets. **  
**


End file.
